I Like Ye
by Joz yyh
Summary: ConnorxMurphy Slash. Murphy is acting wierd and it's Connor's job to remind his brother that there are no secrets between them.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: WARNING INCEST AND MALEXMALE!

**EDIT (6/11/10):** Fixed up the mutilated setnece towards the end of the chapter. You should find it enjoyable now. Also, gave you the curtesy of on-the-spot translations.

* * *

"Speech"

-thoughts-

Chapter 1

He leaves early, before there's any ray of light peering through the city, hours before it can reach their little window and have the chance of waking his sleeping brother. Connor hears Murphy rustling around in his mattress as he pulls up his pants, takes his coat and rosaries of their nails and slams the door shut without uttering a word.

Connor lies on his side facing away from his brothers strange behavior and stares at the dark cracks in the wall. The blonde bites his lip, his thumb pushing more skin into his teeth as he tries to decifer the meaning behind it all.

For two weeks now Connor has dealt with his brother's mysterious ritual of sneaking out at the exact time every morning; or at least it feels like it's the same time. The blonde can't tell for sure. The alarm clock was happily tossed as soon as they started their new line of work.

-Doesn't even leave a freakin' note.-

It's stupid of Connor to expect that of his brother, but he does. He expects Murphy to tell him where he's going, when he'll be back and if he's stoping to pick up smokes on his way home. Connors desperate for anything that reassures him they're still brothers. He'd be happy with a "g'mornin.'"

It's possible Murphy thinks Connor doesn't notice the change, believes the blond really is a heavy sleeper and doesn't hear his wakefulness when it's damn near impossible for his twin to ignore. And being twins gives them a connection of sorts, a window that tells one when something isn't right with the other. Murphy had to know that.

Connor's forhead breaks out into rows of wrinkles as he takes that logic and flips it. Maybe Murphy is trying his hardest to make him notice something is wrong, wants Connor to confront him, to stop him. Connor concentrates too hard and bites his lip open.

"Fuck that hurt!"

Connor sits up in bed, pressing the back of his hand to his bloody lip. It leaves a shinning black dot on his hand. Connor stands up and heads for the table with last night's beer. He drinks what sour remnants he can find.

"Ah, shit!" He swore, his lips stinging as the alcohol hits, beer spilling onto his bare chest.

"Fuck this shit! I'll fuckin' make him talk!"

Connor grabs his coat, not bothering to throw on a shirt, and rushes out the door. He turns back around for his boots once he safely plucks the broken glass out of his foot.

Once outside, Connor heads down the accompanying alley to make up some time, dodging obstacles of trash as they come. He smells the ghost of his brother's cigarrette, and knows he's not far behind. Connor reaches the sidewalk and looks left then right before finding his brother's trademark black coat and blue jeans a couple blocks away.

He's alone.

- And why wouldn't he be? It's got to be close to 3 in the morning. I must be losin' me head.-

With the morning chill fresh on his face, Connor runs up to his brother and shoves on the shoulder. Ther darker man is completely off his guard and tetters into the closest building. Even then, Murphy is slow to react. Connor is amazed at how long it takes him to pull back a fist and defend himself. Whatever has been calling his brother out at this ungodly hour has devoured his mind too.

"An' just where te fuck da ya think yur goin'?" Connor demands, pretending to uphold the role of the bigger, badder brother, but they both that title belongs to Murphy. He's never the one to back down.

Blue eyes blink a few times, piecing together what just happened to him and why his brother of all people was standing in front of him. Connor sees the confusion and grips his brothers shoulder reassuringly, steps just a bit closer so their breathes mingle. Connor almost forgot how cold it gets during these spring mornings and regrets not having a shirt.

In a flurry of black, Connor's hand is knocked away.

"None of yer fuckin' business, a-rite?"

Murphy shoves his hands into his pockets and strides into alley.

Connor stares after his brother's form as it disappares around the corner while his own body is infected with numbness. This was one of those times where Connor consulted one of the many unwritten laws between them: if Murphy had a problem, Connor was there when he needed him, but until then Murphy solved it alone. So naturally, this would be Connor's cue to go back to bed, but the isolation has made him paranoid. Especially, when there's another rule that states they're supposed to share everything with each other.

Connor runs a hand over the scruff of his jaw that pinches at his mouth. He looks around the still sleeping city, indecision weighing heavily on him. Connor's worst fear is for his brother to hate him and persuing with empty threats and open hands will only make the distance between them that much worse.

"Te hell wit it! Shits already hit te fan."

This time Connor grapples Murphy's wieght with the lapels of his coat and shoves his back against the nearest building. He stumbles over a lamp cord in the process.

Murphy doesn't say anything, but he raises his hands in mock surrender and doesn't meet his brother's eyes.

"Now yur gunna tell me what goin' on or so help me I'll beat it out of you!"

He's putting a strain on his vocal cords, but it's the best the lighter twin can do to sound convincing.

Murphy knows there's a vain popping out of Connor's throat right now. He knows his face is turning a brute red without looking at him. Murphy doesn't try to escape his brother's grip, but he doesn't have to. He's getting away with silence. Murphy puts his hands down slowly, averting his eyes from across the street to the garbage around their shoes.

Connor decides to changes strategies and give pleading a shot.

"Please, Murph. I am worried about ya."

Murphy finally looks at him in the eye, the frustration buried in those pools making Connor recoil back. Connor sees it now, the addition of new lines under his brother's eyes. His face looks bruised while the rest of him grows paler by the day. His hair looks greasier than normal too.

- How long as he been without a shower?-

Connor moves to test the ebony locks against his hand. He combs it back and the coarse hairs stick in the place of a cowlick. Those same hands trace down Murphy's temple, coming to rest on the thin structure of his cheeks.

Murphy opens that grimacing mouth of his, eyebrows knotting as he gives his brother what he wants.

"To pray. Are you satisfied now?"

"What?"

Murphy's beauty mark tended to distract him at the most inconvient times.

Murphy rolls his eyes toward the sky exasperatedly and then drops them back down to level with his twin. The words are spoken harsher, on the verge of screaming so that his brother will hear him this time, "I SAID I WAS PRAYIN'. THERE IS NO CRIME IN THAT IS THERE?"

Connor blinks. What would warrant his brother to redouble his devotion? Was he feeling regret? Was it sadness for the dead even though those slimy bastards deserved what they had coming to them? No that couldn't be it. It had to be something Connor did. And just as the lighter twin came to this conclusion, he could only think of a few things that Murphy antagonised over.

"Is it because of the rope?" Connor asks apologeticaly. He's not entirely sure if rope is was what caused this mess, but it was better than saying nothing. At least Connor thinks so.

Murphy pushes his brother off of him, spins on his heel and stretches his arms out like tired wings.

"No, Connor. It's not cuz of te friggin' rope," he says with a facetious smile, astounded that his brother doesn't have a clue to what's proding him.

With that, Murphy leaves and doesn't come back.

* * *

Connor sits on his mattress, foot tapping restlessly against the floor. He threw a shirt on when he got back, but that was the extent of his accomplishments. That aside from smoking his tenth consecutive cigarette. The filter is again brought to his lips and he inhales. The smoke is held in for a couple seconds then blown out through his nose. Nicotine wasn't calming him down like it normally would.

"I should do somethi' fer 'em to make up. But what?"

Connor scratched away at his scalp as he thought over the possiblities. He surveyed the apartment in hopes of landing an idea. The sink was filled with every dish they owned and was starting to smell. The stove held the black crusted remains of whatever it was they attempted to cook while drunk one night. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks and dust clung to every surface he could see.

"I could clean up the place a bit?" Connor laughed at that. Him clean. That was an oxymoron if he ever heard one.

Connor smakes himself in the forehead and hangs his head low.

"Shit, I gunna hafta do aren't I?"

* * *

Murphy came home earlier than expected, or maybe it was later. Time seemed to speed faster than normal when faced with the task of cleaning a filthy apartment. Connor looked behind him from his spot on the floor, sponge in hand, as his twin walked through the door carrying a brown paper bag. Connor threw the sponge into the bucket of cloudy water and sat up on his soaked knees to gauge his brother's reaction.

Murphy's eyes seemed to spark open, seeming oddly displaced for a minute, asking himself several times if he came home to the right apartment.

"Do ya like it then?" Connor asked, junctioning with his nose towards the apartment.

Murphy jumps, startled to find Connor home and on his knees in the far corner of the room washing under the cabinets. Smirking, Murphy apparased the apartment, nodding his head and offering a geniue smile, showing off his teeth.

"Yeah, I think I do."

Murphy shuts the door and sets down the bag on the table, pulling out a bottle of 40 proof rum and takes a good long swig.

Connor stands. He picks up the feather duster from off the counter and points it at his unappriciative half.

"I hope ye brought some home fer me. I've been te one slavin' away 'ere."

Murphy has to cut his drink short, so not to laugh and spew expensive rum all over the table. He wipes away the small amount of liqiour that leaked past his lips.

"And what are ye goin' to do if I forgot miss alice? Tickle me te death wit yer powderpuff stick?"

"You know what, that's exactly what I am gunna do."

Murphy has a glint in his eyes, promising to do something Connor isn't going to like. The dark twin holds the bottle out, tipping the mouth ever closer to the clean floor below.

"If ye ask me, I think the scent of pine could use ... oh I don't know ... little more rum?"

"Don't ya do it! I am warning ya!" Connor was turning red again, he always did when he was angry, and shook his makeshift weapon in disapproval.

There's a trickling sound and Connor watches in open-mouthed horror as a cascade of rum splashes across the clean, white-titled riches of his labor. Murphy doesn't waste too much alcohol on his harrassment, even if the look on his brother's face is possitively adorable.

In the next instant, Connor tackles his twin to the floor, Murphy's back pressed into the mess he made.

Connor lifts up his brother's shirt and grazes his flanks with the fine tips of the feather duster, dodging knees to the ribs and punches to the face.

"Get off! Hahah! Get off - ahah - me dammit!" Murphy barks, trying to wrench himself free from his brothers position on top of him.

"You just had ta do it! Didn't I tell ya not to?" Connor reminds him, his own vengence disipating the more he watchs his brother's face clench in torturous laughter.

Murphy manages to land a punch to his Connor's face and squirms onto his stomach, gasping for breath. It's taxing just to crawl away and clamber for the covers of his bed. Murphy's hand reaches the sheets, but it's a temporary victory. A pair of hands pull Murphy back into the clutches of his tormentor by the waist of his jeans.

"That wasn't very nice now was it Murph? Prepare yerself, I'll aiming for the spot."

"No," Murphy shook his head in successions of side to side, "No, I am sorry! I swear! I won't ever do it again!"

Murphy was at his mercy and it felt exceptionally good to be on top.

"You know it's not really considered punishment if I haven't made you truly sorry for your actions," his brother teases. Connor raises one eyebrow and leans closer towards his twin to scrutinize him through squinted hazel eyes.

"Are you really, really sorry Murph?" He asks in a small, discerning voice.

Murphy slides back, resting his wieght on his hands and licks his lips. He nods an affermitive.

There was a quiet between them, Murphy counting his breathes until he faces his demise or deliverance. Connor just loves watching his brother stare into the unknown, loves seeing that body shivering in anticipation as it waits at the foot of a forked-road.

A smirk was the only warning before Connor dived on him, and Murphy couldn't stop him in time. The punishment starts with a poke to his ribs, just under his arm, and Murphy flinches and cries out from the overload of sensation. A few more fingers jab into his weakest point, playing him like a piano, and Connor slides the backs of his nails lightly over the side of his brothers ribcage just to sweenten his revenge. Murphy is rendered completely helpless from the touches, his body very similar to the consistancy of gelatin. The darker twin flips onto his side simply to stuff a fistful of sheets into his mouth and mute any sound his brother might find gratifying. Connor won't let his twin ruin the fun so quickly and resorts to tracing the visible groves of his brother ribs with his fingers.

Murphy gasps, his eyes shut tight and his face suggesting he's holding more in than just a chuckle or two.

"Alright, alright! Uncle! Aunt! Which ever one ya want! I am sorry!" Murphy waves his hand at his brother to release him, that he's been pushed to his limit.

"Aye, that's good enough for me then." Connor leans back, withdrawing his artillery of fingers just enough to offer them together as a hand for his brother to take. Murphy blinks open his eyes, panting heavily. He hopes his body will again grow bones so he won't be committed to the floor. He lamely reaches a hand up to meet his brother's, certain he'll stay on the floor if he isn't properly lifted to his feet.

Murphy is officially dishelved from the top of his moppy head of hair down to his stretched-out shirt and sagging jeans. His cheeks are still hot with blood and his body is vulnerable like a newborn deer that has yet to master the art of standing. A smile plays on Connor's lips and Murphy gives him a glare in return.

"What are ya all flustered fer?" Connor asks, feigning innocence.

Murphy punches him in the shoulder as hard as he has the strength to and Connor takes the blow with snickering contempt. Connor turns the page to more pressing matters, inspecting the brown bag his brother brought home with him.

"What did ya bring me home good to eat?"

"Look fer yerself." Murphy snaps.

Connor pulls out two stirafoam boxes and sets them down on the table. He opens the one he has a good feeling is his. He finds a turkey club inside with chips and a side of potato salad.

"Believe this one's yers." He slides the container over to his twins on the other side of the table.

"What makes ye think there's one in there fer ye? Could've just as easily bought two fer meself."

Ignoring his brother, Connor opens the remaing box and his eyes immedately light up.

"Oh-ho-ho! I don't remember ya liking onions," Connor squeals in excitement, beholding the wonderful sight of a half pound beef burger smothered in dripping wet onions.

Murphy covers his nose in distaste at the thought of eating such a vile vegetable. He can't find one thing edible about them.

Murphy smooths out his hair and straightens his shirt before sitting down. There's a pugent scent of lemon furniture polish when he gets there and he can see his reflection in the now shining table. With all these poisonous odors swimming around he might just turn ill.

"I am surprised you didn't burn a hole in the floor," Murphy says, picking up a triangle of his sandwitch and biting into it.

"Well it's all really quite simple," Connor explains motioning with his hand, "You just look on the bottle for whatever it is your trying to clean and it tell ya right on the back."

Murphy leans across the table, his eyes scanning for any invisible rubbernecks as if they're conducting a secret exchange, "Really? Do you think you could teach me how to do it?"

Conner promotes his brother's satire, leaning down as well as he whispers, "Are you sure your ready for that? It's not as easy as it looks. Maybe we should start ye out on somethin' small. Like a ... like a window or somethin'."

Connor laughs as his own superior wit and leans back into his chair to spend some quaility time with his burger.

Murphy licks away the mayonaise clinging to the corner of his lips, "Oh, are ye an expert now just after yer first day on the job?"

"Well if your mix the wrong ones together you might burn yerself or blow the whole place up."

Murphy arches his brows. The hand that holds his sandwitch points a finger at his twin, "Hey, just think that if i did discover somethin' explosive we could use it in our next job, eh?"

Connor doubles forward, the fries he swallowed almost chocking him as he surpresses a laugh. He clears his throat and pats his chest to get his lungs working again. He recovers and nods his head in agreement. "Yur right. I should let you do all the cleaning from now on."

"Oh, no I wouldn't want to intrude on your calling."

"Is that what it is now you little prick?" Connor, clearly emasculated, flicks a fry at Murphy forehead.

Murphy's turns his head to minimalize the damage from the deep fried missle, but he's not offended in the least. He slumps across the table, arms resting on the wooden surface like a stretching house cat. "I'll have to buy ye a dress, one with a little apron in the front." It hurts him to continue on through his band of chuckles, but it's worth it. "Every great maid has to have a uniform."

"Shut up and eat yer sandwitch," Connor snaps, ready to end the conversation.

"Hey, are ya gunna chase me out with a broom and take away me dinner if track mud through the house?"

"We'll see how ya like it when someone dirties somethin' right after ya cleaned it. Damn right pisses ye off."

Murphy stares at his brother who is completely seriousness. Murphy falls off his chair laughing, spilling the contents of his dinner all over the floor.

"Hey you better clean that up when yer done!"

Murphy turns blue.

* * *

Murphy fell into an easy sleep with a full stomach and a busy liver. The night passes by quickly for him, uninterrupted. He wakes up after the monday morning rush, when half of the building is at work and the scent of coffee permeats through the walls. The dark twin stretches, feeling better today than he had the past few days. The only thing ruining his morning is an unruly itch. He reaches a hand down to subdue it,intent on going right back to bed, but his hands refuse to move from above his head. He tries again, tugging insistantly against the shackles around his wrists.

"What the fuck?"

Murphy tilts his head back, now very much awake. A tangle of loops and knots are tying him down to the bed, tethered to the various pipes in the room. Murphy knew only one mand who loved rope this much.

"CONNOR!" Murphy bellows, rousing the remaining tenants both above and below them with is voice.

There's a stifled chuckle to his left.

"Oh, shit I think I've gone and made him mad," Connor whispers loud enough for Murphy to hear. He admirably avoids blowing up in laughter.

"CONNOR! DAMMMIT, UNTIE ME! THIS ISN'T A JOKE!" Murphy demands, pouring all his power into tearing himself free; as improbable as it was. The rope he was currently tied up in was the fine-woven, reinforced-you're-not-going-to-escape-without-a-knife kind.

Connor comes out of the shadows to squat down beside his enraged brother, shushing him with an amused smile.

"Hush now, you'll be waking up the nieghbors!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS FOR?" Murphy screams, nostrils flaring.

Connor twirls his brother's combat knife just to taunt him, the sunlight catching on the blade's surface to scatter light across his brother's face.

"Aye, so ye did. But this is about another matter entirely."

"AND JUST WHAT THE FUCK WOULD THAT BE?

If Murphy wasn't pissed before he was now. His blue eyes are positively seething.

"Shhh! Didn't I tell ye to be quiet?"

Murphy scowls. He shakes his head in a silent lament for the sad, sorry condition his brother will be in by the end of the day.

"CONNOR I SWEAR TO GOD IF THIS IS ABOUT SOMETHING STUPID.."

Conner scratches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and snorts.

"Well, I don't think it's stupid, quite serious actually."

"Then hurry up and make yer peace so I can give ye the beating of yer life!" Murphy barks, energetic in his efforts to free himself.

"Oh! Now, is the at a threat or a promise?"

"CONNOR!"

Connor knows he's digging his own grave, but he can't change his stripes. There's something about his brother's snarling face that really puts him in a good mood.

"Settle down will ye? Just a bit of tease and you're havin' a royal fit. Well, guess it's time when get down to business then. So, here it is: I'll let ye go as soon as ye tell me what's that you've been prayin' about."

Murphy goes slack, closing his eyes in prayer, "Jesus my Lord and Savior, please tell me my pissant brother has gone and lost his mind."

"My mind?" Connor points to himself,"You're the one whose lost it. What the fuck are ye doin' that yer bein' so secretive about? Yer keeping somethin' from me. And what am I supposed to do; let ye be on yer merry little way?"

Connor shakes his head at the complete stranger his brother has become. He jabs his fingers into his chest, "We're brother's Murph. Doesn't that mean anythin' to ye anymore?"

Murphy doesn't say anything. He's shivering just slightly, a subtle gesture easily missed if his brother wasn't looking for it in his search for the truth. Connor doesn't know why his brother is trying so hard hide it. Connor can see the pain in his brother winding dangerously, screaming to be let out.

Murphy looks down, shaking his head in denile.

"It's nothin'," He says, meeting his brother's eyes once he's trained himself to lie, "nothin' different then what we always pray fer."

"No, No I think it's somethin' deeper then that. What are you so scared about me knowin' when I know everythin' about ye?"

Murphy's quiet again and an envitable smile works it's way to Connor's lips.

"Maybe I need to rough ya up a bit? Start whippin' ye or something so I can get me answer? Do ye think that'll work?"

Murphy's eyes widen noticebly. Connor wonders if his brother is aware that he's incessantly licking his lips.

Connor stands. He focuses his attention solely on the sharpness of the blade against his pointer finger. Murphy watches his every move, sweating himself dry with the sudden heat consuming him. After a moments consideration, Connor swings one leg over the bed, straddling the mattress and the man that's on it. Then, the blond sits himself down on his Murphy's hips.

"Get off of me!" Murphy demands; much too fast for it to be a normal reaction.

Connor is oblivious, instead watching himself play with the knife in his hands, sorting over what he'll do next.

Murphy turns his head away, clenching his eyes so tight it casts white behind his eyelids. Murphy spent the last two weeks avoiding his brother, avoiding the sin he so badly wanted to taste as it thrusts inside of him. Even the small itineraries of everyday life were done without Connor. Murphy took showers at Rocco's, ate and slept alone, and spent the rest of the hours in the pews of the church. But nothing could keep him away from Connor forever. He felt lonliness and depression boring a hole through his heart, killing him slowly. Just seeing his brother's face, hearing his voice, and being in the same room together with him made Murphy the happiest man in Boston; enough to make him believe he could live the rest of his life silently baptising the demons captivating his soul.

Connor adjusts himself, sliding an inch or so foward. The slight graze of denim against Murphy's thigh sends a wrecking ball through his fortress of resolve, laying bare his desire. Murphy doesn't understand why this is happening to him; why the weight on top of him isn't uncomfortable, but welcomed and enjoyed. He knows he should feel disgusted, awkward, revolted; it's how he asked God to make him feel, but he's faced with yearning instead.

Murphy lies stiff, eyes opened in shock. The fine tip of the blade is drawing a diagnal line down his neck. It spares the virgin it's wrath and moves down to trace the juts of Murphy's collar bone. The darker twin has to bite his lips, curl his toes, but it doesn't stop his beating heart.

"I think we might be gettin' somewhere. Ye 'fraid of bein' at knife point Murph?" Connor teases, forcing his brother's neck up with persuading steel.

"Fer ye!" Murphy blurts out, wishing the arousal growing in his pants will wilt.

"What's fer me?" Connor asks, piqued.

Murphy is short of breathe. He feels dizzy and light headed.

"That's what I've been prayin' fer... you."

"Awww! Does me dear brother care fer me that much? Didja start thinkin' that maybe one of us would die now that we're in the killin' business and leave the other to stand alone? I promise ye right now, Murph, if one of us goes, we both will. Together, like its always been."

Connor's eyes tell him that each word is wholely true.

"No, that's not it," Murphy says, feeling guilty.

Connor throws his hands up, "What then? Afraid yer gunna wake up one mornin' and I'll take all the cash and leave the country with some broad?"

Connor does snicker a little at the thought.

"Just get off of me. Please connor. Haven't I confessed enough?" Murphy pleads, humbly.

Connor knows he drained his brother of answers, but his heart still isn't satisfied, "Aye, suppose ye have. But Murph, what can you tell God that you can't tell me?"

"Believe me it's not like that."

"Then tell me. I hate feeling like this." Connor appeals, leaning down while putting his palm over his chest, "It ain't good fer me health. I am always on wheels not knowing what yer thinkin'."

"El vai condenar-nos (_He will condemn us)."_

"What?" Connor leans back, his blue eyes reveling themselves to their fullest. Murphy knows Galic isn't Connor's best language, but that doesn't mean the blond can't piece the sentence together when handed the words: "condem" and "us."

"Trust me, if I tell you yer not going to feel any better," Murphy warns, sliding his legs over each other nervously.

"I don't care!" Connor says, pulling on his spikey hair in frustration, "Can't ye see not knowin is killing me enough?"

Murphy swallows, finding his voice, "Then do you swear ye'll still be me brother when it's all done?"

"Yeah, a'course."

"Swear it!"

"Alright," Connor concedes, drawing a cross over his heart, "cross my heart and hope to die."

It takes Murphy a few long minutes, but he gets the words out, "I ... I think ... about ... you..."

"What?"

"I THINK ABOUT YOU!" Murphy screams, believing his brother has developed a chronic hearing problem.

"That's great! I think about ye to!" Connor proclaims, not seeing their apparent dispute.

"No, I want to do things to ya."

"I do to," Connor says, counting on his fingers as he sounds each item off, "Punch ya, kick ya-"

"No!"

It takes all of Murphy's self-control not to derail their conversation with a tirade comparing Connor's intellect with a 3rd grader's.

"The kind of things you would do with a woman! I... I want to do with you. I was asking God to give me the strength to stop it."

Connor smiles, motivated by his brother's obvious diversion, "What is it that ya like about me? Is it my sparkling personality?"

Connor sits up straight, running a hand through his hair, to make himself the spitting image of a real prince charming. Ironically, the light seems to have a sense of humor because it burns all around the blond like a corona. Satisfied with his performace, Connor leans down to draw letters on his brothers nose.

"Or is it the way I cross my 't's' and dot my 'i's' that just drives you wild?"

"God what's wrong with you! I am being serious!"

Connor freezes, the jest melting off of his face. Connor conducts an experiment. He rubs his hips slowly, tentatively over his brother again. He feels it, the bulge pressing back into his thigh.

Connor starts, a revelation flashing in his blue eyes, "My God you really do have the hots fer me don't ye?"

Murphy won't dare look at him in the eye. He'd rather stare at the gum stuck to the underside of the table.

"I told ye! Now get off of me!"

Murphy's jaw is set into a frown, trying to prevent the blush on his cheeks.

"No, no wait a minute. Why would ya like me? I mean I am your brother, but ... maybe we've just been around each other too long."

"Whatever! Just-I can't-!" Murphy kicks out his legs, trying to shaking his brother off of him, but to no avail. "... just get off and untie me."  
"Why would I go and do a thing like that? We're making great progress."

"Great progress in what? Fucking torturing me?"

"What if I took off my shirt? Would that take the edge off fer ye?"

"NO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

Connor strips despite his brother's objection. He does so pointedly, arching to the side and flexing his muscles, waiting for his brother to give himself away with a side-long peek. Oh, and Murphy does, he sneaks a glance that's gone as quick as it comes. Connor smirks and handles his brother's jaw so their eyes met, blue on blue.

"This is something new. Never seen ye like this."

-Yesyouhaveyesyouhave. Ye just don't remember. -

"Oh! And now I am taking off my pants, that's sexy in't it?" Connor teases, reaching down to unbutton his pants. He keeps one hand securely around his brother's chin so he won't miss a thing. The red on Murphy's cheeks burns darker, enveloping his whole face and neck and Connor loves controlling this new aspect of his beloved brother.

"Ye never told me what you like about me."

Murphy swallows thickly. It's far too difficult to think, "Your eyes, your voice.. your body when I get to see it."

Connor feigns disappointment, taking his hand away from his pants, "Now those are all physical things. What about the soul Murph?"

The next sentences come out like water: flowing and organic, "Ye know what I'am thinkin' 'fore I do. Ye know how to handle me, tell me what I need to hear even when I won't listen. Even if it ends in a fight."

Connor laughs, feeling embarrassed. He's even keeping back a blush.

"Ye know what's funny? Ye can get all that wit a girl if ye let her get te know ya enough."

"No, not like ... like THIS... fer anyone else. Ye get such a cute look on yer face when one of yer stupid ideas works. And yer retarded fettish fer rope..."

"That's enough."

Connor's rewards his brother's answer by unzipping his pants and pushing the denim down to reveal blue striped boxers. Connor stops before any significant flesh can be exposed, jeans a little loose around his hips, but still very much clothing him.

"On second thought," Connor says as he sticks the knife into the floor for later, "where is it ye liked to be touched Murph? Is it your neck?"

Finger tips trail invisible lines down Murphy throat, flowing like raindrops down his skin. Connor kisses under his brother's jaw, hot breathe pouring out, "You know ... fer educational purposes."

Murphy gasps, pulling his knees up to contain his erection.

"Or is it your chest?"

Connor explores further down his brother's body, fingers mapping out the skin first while his lips are plotted behind, like afterthoughts. Fingers mark a path down the center of his chest, invisibly splitting him into two pieces. The fingers careen to the left, abusing the weak spot under Murphy's arm. Murphy flinches, shuddering under the ministrations. He's panting heavily, but his eyes are screwed shut, terrified of what will happen if he opens his eyes.

"Ye know ye can watch Murph."

It takes a little insistent tugging on his pants and a few reassuring words, but Connor gets Murphy to straighten out his legs and allow him to pulls his pants down to his ankles. It's all the encouragement Murphy needs to keep his eyes open for awhile.

Murphy's briefs are molded into a clear shape, alluding to how much pain he's endured. Connor's starting to feel the heat himself. The red and blue wiring under his skin seems to fill up with liquid ice while his throat swells.

Connor peels back the elastic and Murphy's there to greet him, burning red at the tip. Connor licks at the seeping slit experimentally, watching his brother's reactions. Murphy cries out, unabashed, jerking his hips back from the intensity of what one sloopy kiss does to him.

That naked moan tells Connor Murphy's lost any shame he might of had. And it's a damn delicious sound Connor thinks as it dips into his ears and sinks down through until he feels himself twitch in his pants.

This time, Connor tries running his tongue up his brother's length. Murphy's quick to throw his head back, pulling at his shackles to lift himself closer to the pleasure.

"Détache-moi. S'il vous plaît, je veux vous toucher _(Untie me. Please, I want to touch you)_."

"Pas encore _(Not yet)_."

**TBC...**

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Comments and Questions welcome.

Chapter Completed Wednesday, May 12, 2010.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone that reviewed! You all had such wonderful things to say and each word had a part in helping me finish this last part of the story! Isn't that what most of you wanted? I do hope this was worth the wait!

* * *

"Speech"

-thoughts-

Chapter 2

Before another useless protest could spout from Murphy's lips, Connor slips his brother's cock into his mouth. The pulsing head easily hits the back of his throat before he realizes it and Connor almost chokes. Maybe it was just his ego doing the thinking, but he imagined fitting more into his mouth than that.

"Ahh! Sh-shit!" Murphy curses. His whole body shudders, muscles a taunt tight rope for Connor to tread.

"Wa-why...did.. you-unnn!"

Murphy licks his dry lips, a sharp canine coming to bite at his bottom lip. His eyebrows flick up, endorphins spreading their tingling touch up his jaw, making it ache as if he's eaten something far too sweet.

Connor sucks, sleeking the underside of his darker-half's hardness with his tongue.

It wasn't like the blond had anymore than a vague idea of what he was doing. He didn't know the step-by-step secret to a man's pleasure like any good Christian girl who reads Cosmo Magazine would. But whatever technique he had came up with; if it can even be called a technique, Murphy seemed to be enjoying it. Besides, blowjobs don't require a college degree.

What Connor does know is how to bite, and that's exactly what he wants to do to Murphy's dick for developing the habit of thrusting hard into his mouth. But Connor can be an understanding man. He's been on the receiving end before and knows how immersed a person can get when so close to coming.  
It's been awhile since he felt it, more so than he cares to admit, but he remembers what the smoldering heat burning behind Murphy's eyes is like. It's a damn good place to been in. Connor hasn't reached that destination yet, but he can feel his own need pooling in his stomach.

Murphy suddenly sucks in his breath and holds it. His knees lock, legs straight as a board. Then, they pull in towards his chest as he lets his seed spurt all over the inside of his twin's mouth.

"Nnhhhh!"

It tastes bitter; more so than Connor thought it would. It's probably because of the alcohol.

"You swallowed it?" Murphy's snickers, the light-headedness unmistakable in his words.

"Where else am I supposed to put it?" Connor demands irritably.

"Such an blundering idiot," Murphy says, effectively muffling the insult into his arm. He blinks, his darkened eyes at half-mast, "I bet you're planning to finish with your pants still on too."

"I finished plenty with me mouth." Connor wipes away the evidence of that statement from his lips.

Murphy's eyebrows knot, his whole face in a grimace. He doesn't like the smug look on his brother's face.

"What're ye proud of? Not like it was that great," the dark one mutters.

"What's that?" Connor prompts, listening in for anymore hushed comments, "Ye know I am in me right mind at just leave ye hanging here all night and let te neighbors find ye like this."

"Then ye better pray te God I never get loose!"

Connor won't allow Murphy the satisfaction of knowing how scared that thought gets him. Instead, he swallows, masking the impending dread with exasperation.

"Alright! Jesus, I'll let ye down! But I don't wanna hear any gripe for it! And ye better not move!"

Just like that, Connor wriggles the knife out of the floor boards and cuts his brother free.

Murphy sits up tamely. He rubs the life back into his wrists, now bruised and irritated from failed attempts at escape. Connor's on his guard. He knows his brother well enough not to be fooled by the temperate reaction. Underneath, Murphy's piping mad.

"I've got a knife you know," Connor warns, pointing the blade's edge between Murphy's eyes.

"I know," Murphy smiles, amused at Connor's childish fear of him.

Just as Murphy makes his move, Connor's there to stop him. Connor can't honestly say he saw himself succeeding in their power struggle. The blond was certain that he would be the one lying on his back right now instead of Murphy. But somehow he managed to store the knife between his teeth and pin both his brother's arms down in a matter of seconds. Maybe he had more skill then he gave himself credit for.

Connor looks down at his dark half, Murphy's doesn't look happy, but Connor is.

"Didn't I say, te stay put?" Connor taunts, removing his hands from Murphy's shoulders and substituting them for his shins. He stashes the knife in his hand.

"Fuck you!"

Connor ignores the insult. After being stuck in second place for all his life it feels good to finally win the gold.

"Now, what should I do with ye?" The blond twin strokes the scruff of his chin in a feigned search for an answer.

Murphy knees Connor in the ass and sends the lighter twin pitching forward.

- Maybe I should've been more sympathetic.- Connor thinks as Murphy's teeth lock securely around his half-flaccid dick.

Connor wants to cry. Murphy's outsmarted him again, bumping him back down to his rightful place as second best. But the real grief goes to his dearly beloved penis, which he fears won't be with him for much longer.

Murphy throws him for a loop though, like always does, and starts to lick his shaft back to hardness.

"What er ye doin?" Connor doesn't really care if Murphy answers or not. He only cares if he stops.

"Lego me hands," Murphy says between licks.

"Aren't ye angry?"

"I will be if ye don't do it."

"Fine."

Connor braces himself against the cold wall in front of him, the knife useless in his balled fist. The blond figures he might as well take precautions while he still has the power to. Connor stabs the knife into the plaster closest to him to avoid any unnecessary injuries. A piercing and brittle sound resounds through the apartment as the blade drives in. Connor shifts just slightly, pressing his knees into the mattress. It's a lot more comfortable than sitting on Murphy's bony arms.

Murphy wastes no time grabbing Connor's ass, squeezing the flesh appreciatively. Murphy moans, subtle vibrations in his throat transition over to his twin's cock and Connor blushes, feeling a little self-conscious. Why, he doesn't know.

Murphy slides down Connor's jeans slow and effectively, like a practiced routine. This observation makes Connor have the scary yet enticing thought that he's been molested in his sleep several times before, but he wastes no time worrying over it. His demine pants are rough against his skin and his cock is in sleek paradise.

Murphy's hands seem to know where to touch to make him burn hotter for sex than he ever thought he could. Those hands travel underneath Connor's cotton boxers, nails dragging behind as they find the junction where legs connect to hips. Fingers trace over the bone jutting out just beneath the flesh of his hips, pulling and craving more into their grasp. Murphy's hands release him unexpectedly; slipping gently and silently back the way they came. Connor whimpers for them to return.

Murphy's teeth graze Connor's dick, and Connor knows it must be because his twin is smirking at the ridiculous sound he made. Murphy takes his mouth away completely right after that, cleaning his messy lips with his tongue.

Connor looks down to see what the hold up is, desperate to bury himself in that heat again.

"Murph..." Connor pleads, thrusting his hips forward to coax his brother to take him back in. He's in that magnificent place he watched Murphy enjoy moments before and oh, he doesn't want to leave just yet.

Murphy takes a quick taste of the pulsing head.

"Wait will ye."

Murphy's fingers hook onto the waist band of the blond's boxers. The fabric slides down. It catches at the base of Connor's erection, making the man moan. Murphy peels the boxers the rest of the way off, careful this time.

The dark vigilante feels excitement race back through him. It's true, he's impatient, but there's no use holding himself back when there's a fully raised and wanting Connor exposed to him.

Murphy grabs his brother's cock and plants a long suckling kiss along its length. His tongue comes to retrace the same path. Murphy glances up above him. Connor's eyes are clamped shut, forcing himself to remain a man and not a writhing whore in heat. Connor is such a stubborn boy, but Murphy has a cure for that.

Being reunited with his brother's tongue makes Connor's body jerk in retaliation, but strong hands on his hips keep him from going too far.

"Murph, stop ... I am gunna ... blow it."

"Why dontcha then?"

Everything Murphy has unleashed on him with that wonderful mouth escalates in sensation. He sucks him harder, works him faster like a piston and Connor can't keep up. More grunts and groans sneak past his lips with each short breath. His muscles spasm, then tighten. His toes curl.

"Shit!"

Murphy gets more than a mouthful of warm semen and has to pull back. He pinches his eyes closed as more of it comes to splatter across his cheek. A stream of white liquid has started to dribble out the side of his lips, and Murphy swallows to avoid more of a mess. The sticky drink goes down hard.

"Sah ..." Connor tries to apologize, but his whole body feels spent and numb, including his tongue. He gives himself a few more seconds to climb down from being high in the clouds.

"Sorry," Connor tries again, the words articulated more ideally then his last effort, "But ye made me do it."

Connor slides his knees back further onto the mattress so can see his brother's face properly. Smiling at his darker twin's defiled state, Connor attempts to clean off some of his artwork from the unwitting canvas underneath him. Murphy knocks his brother's fingers away and wipes what he can of the sticky substance from his face with a forearm. Murphy can feel the accruing anger inside of him about to explode.

"Fucker! How do expect me to get this shit off?"

"Shut up. Ye look cute," Connor chuckles, in rich spirits despite the impending pain Murphy promises to deliver, "Ye know, like one of those porno girls."

Murphy grits his teeth, his anger pushed aside by the greater force of embarrassment. He knows exactly what Connor is talking about. Murphy tries to glare at Connor's twinkling eyes, not enjoying the rising implications he finds there. Murphy was in no way going to be the girl in sex.

Connor is blissfully ignorant to Murphy's opposition. Connor tilts his head to the side curiously, seeing if it's possible for Murphy to look even sexier at a different angle. Connor's strokes himself back to life as he fantasizes, wanting Murphy to take over the reigns for him.

"Lick this for me will you?"

Murphy blinks once then stares at his twin, completely astounded.

"Again I mean," the blond corrects.

While Murphy's preoccupied with analyzing Connor's psychological welfare, the blond McManus takes initiative. He arches forward, poking Murphy in the cheek with his renewed erection. From there, he probes his cock along Murphy's mouth, spreading a coat of pre-cum like lipstick.

Murphy snaps back to himself and gives a low, predatory growl. He shoves the blond off, "Lick it yourself!"

The dark twin maneuvers his legs out from under his brother and reaches for the knife in the wall above them. Murphy's fingers miss the black grip handle by millimeters as Connor yanks him back down to the bed by his ankles. Murphy rolls over and Connor pulls him into the perfect submissive position. At this point, there's only a number of movements Murphy can make and most of them Connor is betting on.

"I was going to be nice, but," Connor glances up at the knife then back down at his brother, "after seeing you want it rough and bloody I changed my mind."

Murphy scoffs, "And just what are you gonna do about it?"

A determined hand is placed on Murphy's hip while the other stays shackled around his ankle, bracing him for what is to come. Murphy watches as Connor's muscles join in with his thrust, a distinguishing push against Murphy's unprepared ass sending a very clear message.

Murphy flinches from the pain. He's dry aside from sweat and Connor is shoddily lubed with dried semen and spit. They're in no condition to fuck, but try telling that to the inconsiderate tart named Connor.

"You can't just-OWWW! DAMMIT! STOP!"

Murphy complains; face contorted in pain and mortification. He can't believe how far the situation has turned on him or how he's going to get himself back in the driver's seat. Connor is speeding ahead of him, the piercing tip already peeling its way inside his muscles with quick, purposeful jabs. Murphy can't think above the burning and tearing. His legs shudder under the intense waves of pain. He grinds his teeth and claws his brother's arm. It's all he can do stop himself from crying.

The friction has become unbearable even for Connor. The blond pulls out. Murphy whimpers as he does. Rather than ask Murphy to do it for him, Connor licks his fingers until they're sopping wet and then reaches down to lather up his dry cock with his soaked fingers.

"You-You PRICK! You fucking prick! Christ that hurt!"

Murphy hits the sides of his feet against Connor's flanks as hard as he can. It's nowhere near the punishment his brother deserves. Murphy slams the back of his head against the mattress to deter the aching, but it only succeeds in giving him a headache. He covers his face with both hands, nails digging into his eye sockets.

"You mean ... you're not happy?"

Connor's finished lubing himself up and is ready to try again. He uses his thumb to push aside Murphy's thighs, hoping to eliminate some resistance for the both of them. Holding himself steady, he pushes in.

"ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT? DO YOU JUST SHOVE IT IN NO MATTER WHO YOU'RE WITH? FUCK! LET ME DO IT!"

"What? now wait a -"

"Connor either you lay the fuck down OR YOUR HEAD GOES THROUGH THE TV!"

Connor does as he's told.

"God you're such a jackass!" Murphy says as he crawls on top of his twin.

"Thanks, I appreciate that," is the cocky response.

"Just shut the fuck up."

Murphy takes off his shirt that's been bunched up under his arms and tosses it to the side. Connor tries not to look interested in the revealed body. He doesn't want Murphy to get the wrong idea and think he can do whatever he wants. After all, Connor's a very frustrated man.

Murphy bends down, gripping the frustrated man's erection and starts to lick. Connor honestly wasn't expecting to get serviced so soon and doesn't do much to protest. Connor is just a little disappointed. He wanted to con Murphy into penetration, but it's hard to commit to his plan when lips are red and wet from swallowing him over and over again. Once Connor realizes this, he shuts his eyes quick. It's no good. Connor grows addicted to the slippery sounds of Murphy's lips and hands satisfying him, the feel of Murphy's winded breathes blowing over him and hardens to his fullest. Dull prickles of ecstasy have already started to crawl up his nape, but he won't let Murphy know just how much.

Murphy is focused on better things. He sticks a soaked finger inside of himself, letting his muscles adjust while he supplies his twin with a pleasurable distraction. Murphy's confident in what he's doing. He's practiced it on himself and knows what feels good. Connor doesn't have to admit it's true out loud. His body tells Murphy anything he wants to know. The blond has loosened up considerably, his selfish resolve to remain obstinate crashing down around him as he spreads his legs wider and groans.

Connor's lost in the drift of passion when Murphy releases him. The blond opens his hazy eyes. His mind is mid-way between here and heaven and he doesn't want to go anywhere but up.

It seems like he'll make it there soon. Murphy is straddling him, lowering himself down onto his serviced cock. His penis is coaxed inside the moist heat with slow meticulous instruction. Connor is too intoxicated to help and watches on with dull understanding.

Murphy's cold blue eyes snap up to glare at him.

"DONT! MOVE!" He warns, pausing in his descent.

Connor nods. He won't argue when sheathed so close to the hilt.

With another push, Connor slides the rest of the way inside. Murphy's has to stop there. He's strained himself to the limit accepting his brother inside and can't bear to move. It's strange. He had prepared for this feeling consciously and physically, but it wasn't the same. Connor was reaching in too deep, pressing against a petulant part of him. It felt odd, uncomfortable, and just the slightest bit good.

Murphy wipes the tears from his eyes.

"Can I move yet?" Connor asks breathlessly.

"NO! DON'T DO A FUCKING THING!"

Connor's ears start to ring. Murphy's shrill orders are killing the mood.

Murphy thinks the mood can go fuck itself. It's just like his brother to take advantage, to be insensitive. Murphy doesn't know if he'll be able to keep going, he's not ready, not anymore. He can't imagine going through this kind of pain again, but if he doesn't do something soon his brother will. So what's Murphy to do? Get off this ride and forget the whole thing? Or take control and do it himself? Murphy sucks in his breath and holds it. At the very least, he doesn't want to scream even if he knows what's coming. With his hands on his brother's stomach, Murphy lifts his hips aimlessly, his whole body visibly shuddering from the exertion.

"How about I take over now?" Connor asks, guiding Murphy back down onto him with mindful hands. Connor seems to be back home now from his trip in the clouds.

"I feel like I am dying," Murphy pleads. He sniffs and rubs his leaking nose. He was going to see this sin of theirs to the very end. He was even going to take Connor's share with him so, that only one of them would have to pay the price. Connor's love was what Murphy longed for, dreamed of, but never did he want it to be so far away from him.

Connor sits up, keeping his brother's delicate position in mind. Murphy peeks through blurry eyes, ready to tell his brother off for disobeying a direct order to stay still. Connor's shaking hands across his cheeks destroys anything Murphy was going to say. The twins look at each other. Murphy's shocked. Connor's hesitation and uncertainty are so thick that it radiates off him like a tacky perfume. Connor smirks nervously and does something Murphy doesn't predict, he kisses him. Murphy flinches at the first diminutive contact, causing Connor to falter. Swallowing the rejection, Connor focuses his courage and kisses him again. He tastes like cigarettes but he can't imagine he tastes much better. Connor tries to reassure him. He kisses him over and over until he finally accepts that God won't send a thunderbolt down to destroy them both.

Murphy kisses back timidly and Connor is exuberant because of it. He shows just how much with kisses that are firmer, longer, and savory. Connor opens his eyes to find Murphy still has his half-open in reverie. Connor smiles and pulls the complacent Murphy to rest his head in the crook of his shoulder. Connor hasn't forgotten he's buried inside his twin and thrusts deep and fast. There's no harsh scolding that comes from his brother, just airy moans. Murphy reaches down to stroke himself.

"Connor I am-"

"Yeah..."

They seem to understand one another now. This isn't about who can tease the other the most or which one will show the other up any more. Sex becomes more than just feeling good, more than curiosity, more than something to covet. It's about being connected to the one person who will understand him more than anyone else, the one soul he can trust to be alongside him no matter where he ends up.

Connor flips them over, never breaking apart from his beloved brother. Murphy moans stack higher, one cry running into the next as Connor curves to hit the glorious spot inside him. Murphy locks his ankles around his brother's back. His body curls around the man slamming into him, pulling him in closer as his body tenses. The heat is maddening. His insides are gorged and nearly spent. For a moment it feels like Connor can truly belong to him, that this is the only time no one else can reach them and take one away from the other.

Connor thrusts once more, delving in as far as he can and holds it. Murphy squirts all over his hand, his brother's name fresh on his lips. The world comes back to them, little by little. Eventually, they remember that they're still alive, that more exists then just the sensation of pleasure.

Murphy gets off and falls beside Connor on the disheveled bed.

Connor rolls over and wraps his arms around his twin's slim waist. The blond sighs contently into dark locks of hair. Murphy flinches from the cold breath running down his fevered skin. Murphy smirks, feeling content himself, but there's always room for one fight more before they fall asleep.

"I know what you'll be cleaning tomorrow miss Alice," Murphy says, wagging the sheets he used to clean off his soiled hand.

Murphy gets poked in the ribs. The vigilante laughs, kicking his feet.

"If ya wan' em clean ye do the laundry. My beds perfectly fine."

"Haha, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Go the hell to bed, that's what it means."

"You know, from now on I don't want to do it unless it's in your bed," Murphy declares, turning slightly to catch the dirty look from his brother.

Connor growls. He pulls his brother in tighter against him. It's impossible. They can't get any closer.

"I'll think about it," the blond mutters into his brother's neck, biting the pale flesh.

Murphy smirks. He lets there be quiet between them.

The warm oranges of sunset are darkening to purple through their window and onto their wall. The city outside is going to sleep early today it seems. Normally, he wouldn't be able to hear Connor breathing this clearly. He wouldn't know how wonderful it feels to be beside him without a car horn getting in the way.

Murphy isn't ready to sleep yet. He wants to relish this bliss and warmth as long as he can. His fingers play with the sheets, watching as the wrinkles change patterns under his fingers. There's something irregular about Connor's breathing.

"Are you...are you sniffing me?" Murphy asks, smiling into the dark.

Caught in his crime, Connor shifts positions to lie on his back.

"Didn't I tell you to shut it?"

Connor's stomach does summersault and a blush works its way onto his cheeks. It's not his fault he couldn't resist his brother's scent. Murphy must be emitting some weird pheromone or something.

Murphy sits up. His blond brother is trying to deter him by faking sleep, but it won't work. Murphy leans down and gives his brother a kiss.

"Yes, Miss Alice."

**FIN**

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Comments and Questions Welcome.

Chapter Completed: Tuesday, July 20, 2010.


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